In The Way
by Molly Morrison
Summary: Snape is acting strangely toward Harry after he retrieves him from Privet Drive. Why is he suddenly visiting Harry in the hospital wing constantly? NO SLASH
1. CHAPTER 1

**LIES**

**Disclaimer:** Alas, very little of this is unique.  The characters and the world they inhabit are the creations of J.K. Rowling, as I'm sure you all know.  The song quoted at the beginning of the chapter is owned (and performed) by Jars of Clay.  Finally, many pieces of the plot were subconsciously (or consciously) influenced by the many "Snape rescues Harry" "Harry is abused" and other fics of this general type.  If there is at any point something in particular I can cite, I will do so.

**Summary:** Snape is acting strangely toward Harry after he retrieves him from Privet Drive.  Why is he suddenly visiting Harry in the hospital wing constantly?

**Rating:** PG-13 to be safe.  Some child abuse mentioned, but not overly explicit.

**Warnings:** Spoilers up to and including OOTP. 

**Author's Notes:**  By popular demand, I am posting this as its own fic.  I had originally inserted this chapter as a preview in my other story, Lies, to replace my review responses chapter when they were outlawed.  I will warn you that since I find this less original than Lies, it will probably be updated far less frequently.  That having been said, on with the chapter, and I hope you enjoy!

**I'M IN THE WAY**

_you sit and stare out at the sky_**_  
_**_and think of ways to fake a smile_**_  
_**_but life is never what it seems_**_  
_**_sometimes it only takes a while_**_  
  
_**_Chorus:_**_  
_**_i'm__ in the way of fallin' down_**_  
_**_i__ won't let you go that far now_**_  
_**_i'm__ in the way of fallin' down_**_  
_**_i__ won't let you go that far now_**_  
  
_**_i__ won't let you go_**_  
  
_**_you think that hope was left behind_**_  
_**_i__ picked it up a mile ago_**_  
_**_i__ am running close behind_**_  
_**_so don't give up and don't let go_

_-- Jars of Clay_

It was a beautiful Saturday on Privet Drive, and in fact in all of Little Whinging.  The sun was out, and a light breeze perfectly counterbalanced the heat that it put off.  Perhaps it was the perfection of the day that emphasized the abnormality of the neighborhood.  No one sat on their porches drinking lemonade, and no children played in the street.  A few people could be seen mowing lawns or weeding their perfectly maintained yards, but otherwise no one could be found outside.

What was even more abnormal, however, was that a boy of almost sixteen who was always expected to handle all the household chores was instead lying supine on his lumpy mattress in his tiny bedroom on the second floor of number 4, Privet Drive.  Not surprisingly, his monster of an uncle was just outside his door, screaming at him as he undid the multiple padlocks on the outside of his door.

"Boy!  What are you doing in there?  You had better be ready to get going on your chores; you've already slept half the day away!"

Harry Potter gently hugged his arm to his chest and bit back a moan.  Why couldn't he have a normal holiday, with a family that loved him and wanted him alive and well, rather than dead or, if that was not possible, badly injured?  He heard the last padlock slip open and dragged himself slowly to a sitting position with a grimace.  He was glad that he didn't have a mirror for once, as he didn't want to see what he looked like.  It had been five days since anyone from the Order had checked in on him, and Hedwig had disappeared before his uncle had boarded up his window, and begun to take out his aggressions upon his nephew.

Still, part of Harry felt that he deserved how he was being treated.  He had gotten his godfather killed, his only hope of ever escaping this horrible house disappearing in an instant.  All because of a "saving people thing".  That, and his miserable progress (or lack thereof) on occlumency, not assisted by the fact that his worst enemy of a professor had been the teacher.  It had been all too easy for Voldemort to trick Harry into doing exactly what he wanted, and it was only by pure luck that Sirius was the only one to lose his life.

Sirius.  Harry's heart ached at the thought of him.  He pushed his godfather out of his mind and focused on his uncle's furious face.  If he didn't pay attention now, he would only get more hurt.

"So, boy, how does it feel to get what you deserve?"  Harry remained mute at this.  Who was he to argue?  "Are you ready to do your chores, or should I teach you another lesson in obedience?  I will beat the… _freakiness_… out of you yet!"

Harry idly wondered if that was possible.  Could he have the magic beaten out of him?  What would happen to the wizarding world then?  The prophecy said that he was the only one who could beat Voldemort, that he *had* to be the one to do it.  Perhaps he should take boxing lessons from his grossly overweight cousin, Dudley?  A corner of his mouth quirked up at the idea of beating the scourge of the wizarding world with a few punches.

He saw the expression change on his uncle's face and knew that he had made a mistake.  As his uncle's large form loomed in over him, he screamed, "Oh, you think this is funny?  I'll teach you to laugh at me!"  With that, he raised his arm over his head, and Harry melted back toward the wall, anticipating the pain that was coming.

Instead, he heard a loud popping sound from below.  It sounded like someone apparating!  Sure enough, a moment later he could hear a male voice.  Unfortunately, he could neither recognize nor understand the person, but when his aunt responded her high-pitched voice carried up the stairwell and through the door to his room which still hung ajar.

"Oh no, Harry's not here at the moment.  He took a walk, down to the park I think."  His aunt seemed to have succeeded in not sounding nervous as she uttered the lie, and Harry felt his heart drop.  So much for being saved.  He looked up to his uncle, his arm still frozen over his head, and saw the malicious glint in his eyes right before he swung it toward Harry.

Despite having grown several inches in the time since the end of the last term, if anything Harry had lost weight.  He had no idea what they were feeding Dudley, as he was generally either locked outside to do chores or in his room, but he knew that they were feeding _him_ next to nothing.  This made him that much easier for his uncle to throw around, and the big man apparently found it quite entertaining.  Harry felt the fist impact with his shoulder, feeling something give, and then he was thrown against the wall by the force of it, his head smacking against the wall with a loud crack.

Already Harry felt himself slipping away.  He felt several more punches impact several parts of his body, and then he was thrown to the hard floor.  The loose floorboard jabbed into his back painfully, but he barely noticed it.  He was too busy twisting, trying to protect his arm and the several ribs that he suspected were broken.

Unfortunately, this only encouraged his uncle to attack those parts of his body more aggressively.  He heard several ribs snap, and wondered at the lack of pain.  It seemed that his entire body had gone numb.  The next moment, he felt a flash of some of the most intense pain he had ever experienced as his uncle's boot made contact with his already broken arm, and that was the last he knew.

*  *  *

"Potter, wake up!  Now, Potter, I don't have all day!"  Harry could hear a harsh voice demanding that he wake.  Why was he asleep?  And why was it so hard to wake?  Suddenly, with a rush, the pain and the memories returned to him.  Immediately he snapped his eyes open and began backing away from the blur in front of him, knowing that his uncle would kill him if he didn't do something, and now.

"Fell down the stairs, did you?" the sarcastic voice continued.  "The least these despicable muggles could do is come up with a good excuse."  Harry didn't hear words, just the hostile tone of the voice.  With a cry of pain and fear he finished backing himself into a corner, ignoring the incredible pain that radiated from nearly every part of his body.

"Leave me alone, please!" he cried, wondering if this was it.  "I'll do the chores, please, just don't hit me!"

The tone changed suddenly.  "Potter?  Can you hear me?" the voice sounded concerned now.  He wished his head would clear enough for him to make sense of the words that the blob in front of him was uttering.  He didn't think he could ever remember his uncle using such a worried tone with him; he must be close to death.

"Please, don't, I have to… I have to…" He couldn't get the words out, to utter what he knew he had to do, what he couldn't do if he were dead, even though death seemed such an appealing option at the moment.  This time the voice did not reply, but a moment later he felt a hand on his arm, the bad arm.  He screamed and pulled it back, protecting it from whatever new game this was that his uncle had decided to play.

"This is not good… I can't do anything.  I'll need to get him to Pomfrey," the voice muttered to itself.  Then it spoke louder.  "Hang on, Potter… I'll be right back."  He heard the voice mutter something else, and then the door slammed shut.  A moment later he heard a loud pop.

A heavy silence fell over the room.  Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  He was okay, he wasn't dead yet.  His brain, numbed by pain, struggled to think of a way to get out of this situation.  He might deserve beatings, but if he was dead no one would live to fight… he decided not to finish that sentence.  He crawled painfully back to his bed, until he was over the loose floorboard.  He let go of his bad arm, using his good hand to pry open his secret hiding place.  When his fingers closed over smooth wood, he smiled—though it was really more of a grimace—in relief.  His uncle wouldn't dare come near him when he had his wand in hand.  At least, he hoped he wouldn't.

Another pop sounded, and this one almost seemed louder.  Harry realized that he had been slipping back into the fog that seemed to fill his mind, and tried to claw his way back to the surface, to full consciousness.  The blur that had appeared in his room approached him, and he brandished his wand, hoping to halt his advance.

"Oh, now you're going to attack your rescuer?"  The voice chuckled, causing Harry to grip his wand tighter.  He would not be anyone's amusement anymore.  Before he could react, though, a hand had reached down and pried the wand from his own.  Choking back a sob at his return to defenselessness, he tried to back away further but he was against the wall.  A moment later he felt something smooth and hard being shoved into his hand, and then he felt a tug behind his navel and spun out of control.

The room where he landed when the spinning had ended was brighter than his own, Harry could tell that much.  He couldn't see much else without his glasses, except that the blur that had been laughing at him earlier was still with him.  He shied away from the hands that reached down to him, but they took a firm grasp of him and lifted him up, before setting him down on a slightly softer surface, raised off the ground.  A bed?

"Pomfrey!"  The voice of the blur yelled loudly, and he flinched away.  The blur held him steady, however, so that he did not fall off the edge of the bed.  "Get in here, now!"

"What is wro—oh!"  He could hear a female voice now.  He felt himself relax slightly; his uncle never beat him in front of his aunt.  "Severus, what happened?"  The new blur moved closer, and then he heard her gasp.  "Is that—Harry?"

Once again he flinched, not wanting anyone's attention.  "Just—Just leave me alone, please?" he begged.

*  *  *

When she saw the frail and battered form on the bed resolve into that of Harry Potter, Poppy couldn't hold in a gasp.  He was painfully thin, emaciated to tell the truth, and every exposed part of his body was covered in bruises.  From even a glance, she thought she recognized the symptoms, and when she saw the boy flinch away from her as she spoke his name, she was even more certain, but she needed to confirm her suspicions with Snape, who had brought him in.

"I thought he was supposed to be safe at home?"

The potions master and professor tore his glance away from the shaking boy on the hospital bed, and Poppy was surprised to see a bit of concern on his face before he smoothed it out into its usual expressionlessness.  "As did I.  Apparently his relatives were not willing to cooperate."

She felt anger pass through her, directed towards anyone who could do this to an innocent child.  And Harry of all people—he certainly didn't need this!  "Well, I'll see what I can do.  You should call Albus."  The potions master nodded, and she turned back to her patient.  He was shaking, and she knew that he must be going into shock.  The first thing was to get him calmed down, and then she could begin to heal his many injuries.  She quickly retrieved the appropriate potion and then moved back to her patient's bedside.  "Harry, I—"  She paused when he flinched again.  "I need you to drink this, Harry."  She pushed the goblet towards his hands, but even the good one did not close around the cup.  She sighed.  "I'll hold it to your lips and you can drink it that way," she decided.  However, when she held it to his lips, he refused to swallow, spitting the little bit that he got in his mouth out immediately.

The medi-witch turned around at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw both Snape and the headmaster.  "I'm going to need some help—he's refusing to drink the potion."  She directed this comment primarily to Severus, as the younger man would be more capable of assisting her.  As she stepped out of the way to let him by, she heard a gasp from the newly-arrived headmaster.  She pursed her lips but didn't look him in the eye or vocalize a response.

Meanwhile, Severus was now next to the boy, who was sitting up but whose glazed eyes didn't appear to be seeing anything in particular.  He was rocking slightly and hugging his injured arm to himself.  Severus began to speak, more softly than Madam Pomfrey had ever heard from him.  "Come now, Potter… surely you don't want to continue to be in pain."  He lifted the potion, then began to speak again.  "Just drink this potion…"  He held out the goblet, and then put his hand gently on Harry's shoulder to stop his rocking.

Everyone in the room jumped when Harry cried out and jerked away from Snape's hand.  After a slight hesitation, Snape reached out again and took a firmer grasp on the boy's shoulder, ignoring his cry.  He looked across the bed to Poppy, who was standing on the other side.  "I don't think he's going to drink this voluntarily.  I can hold him still if you'll pour it down his throat."  The medi-witch nodded.  The potions master removed his hand from the boy's shoulder and reached up to open Harry's mouth and tilt his head back.  He struggled briefly but was clearly too exhausted to put up much of a fight.  A moment later Pomfrey was pouring the potion down his throat.  They heard him gag at first as he tried to reject the thick liquid, but it was an abortive attempt and he quickly began to swallow in order to clear his throat so that he could breath again.  When Snape released him, he gasped for breath, still shaking slightly.

The three adults sighed in relief as they saw his muscles begin to relax and his eyes begin to droop to cover his glazed eyes.  The shaking slowly ceased, and the medi-witch and potions master were able to ease him onto his back.  After this Madame Pomfrey set to work healing his many injuries, and Snape turned to face the headmaster.

The headmaster, who recently had begun reflect more and more his old age, slowly pulled his eyes from the sight of his battered student and focused instead on Snape.  "Severus… what happened?" he choked out.

"I went to check on him, as you asked.  I met _Petunia_," he spat this name out, as there was no love lost between him and the magic-phobic muggle, "downstairs and she told me that Harry had taken a walk and she thought he was at the park.  I went looking and eventually came back, ignoring their excuses and going upstairs.  At first I checked the other rooms, but then I realized that the door with all the padlocks must be his.  I unlocked it and went in, and found him, like this."  He gestured to the boy, who appeared calm now at least.  Poppy was still working hard to heal him.  "Petunia had followed me upstairs and told me that he had fallen down the stairs, but it was obvious that even she was surprised at how bad he looked.  When I woke him, he—"  Snape paused for a moment, and anyone who did not assume him to be heartless would guess that he was trying to collect his emotions.  "He begged me not to hurt him.  I came back to get a portkey that I keep to get to the hospital wing quickly, and returned.  When I got back, he had retrieved his wand and was pointing it at me.  It was obvious that he couldn't even see straight, though, so I just took it out of his hands," at this he pulled said wand from his pocket, handing it to Dumbledore.  "And then I put the portkey in his hand and we came here."

Dumbledore in turn looked back toward the still boy on the hospital bed.  More to himself than to Severus, he murmured, "How could I have imagined he was safe?"  He moved closer to Madame Pomfrey, then asked in a hesitant tone that was completely out of character for the confident headmaster, "Poppy, can you tell—was this the first time?"

The medi-witch looked up from her work, making eye contact with the older man.  She shook her head.  "I'm sorry Albus, but there appear to be at least some injuries that aren't new.  There is a break in his arm, for instance, that had partially set."

"What are the injuries?" Severus asked, knowing that the headmaster would find it hard to speak.

"Well, his arm is broken in three places, and as I said, at least one of those breaks is not new.  Five broken ribs, and he was incredibly fortunate that none of him pierced his lungs or any internal organs.  He definitely has a concussion, with several major injuries to his head.  I don't think there is any damage to his brain, but…"  She paused, then continued, "If I didn't know better, I would guess that he had been attacked by a swarm of bludgers.  It is a testament to his stubbornness and pain tolerance that he was still moving."

The hospital ward fell silent as each of its occupants considered the boy who had fallen into a light sleep, lost in their own thoughts.

*  *  *

As Harry awoke, the first thing that he wondered was why his room was so bright.  He could see the light through his closed eyelids.  The next thing he wondered was why his bed was so much smoother than usual.  He was used to the lumpy old mattress that Dudley had abandoned for another over ten years ago.  The next thought that crossed his mind caused his eyes to snap open, and he attempted to sit up in bed—only to discover that he didn't seem capable of moving.

"What—" he began, or rather, tried to.  All that he heard was a low moan.  He felt a shiver of panic that seemed to run through the inside of him as he realized how helpless he was.  _Let me go!_ he thought to himself, and would have screamed it if he could.  A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and then saw the face of someone lean over him.

It was—but it couldn't be, could it?  He could have sworn that it was Madame Pomfrey leaning over him, and now that he moved his eyes around a bit he saw familiar signs of the hospital wing at Hogwarts.  But he couldn't be there, it was summer!

"Ah, Mr. Potter, I see you have awakened.  Just a moment, I believe the headmaster wishes to speak with you."

Harry heard a high pitched whine emerge from his throat as he tried to cry out.  She couldn't just leave him there, trapped!  He felt a hand rest on his shoulder for a moment, and her voice was comforting as she told him, "I'll be right back, don't worry.  You're safe here."  He heard the swish of her robes as she walked away and felt another shiver of fear run through him.

Two sets of footsteps returned.  He heard the two people consulting in whispers, just out of his hearing range.  Finally, Madame Pomfrey moved to within his sight and muttered something.  He felt warmth rush suddenly through his head and neck, and found that he could now turn his head side to side.  The rest of his body remained immobile, however.  He turned quickly so that he could see both the medi-witch and the headmaster, and then demanded, "Let me go!"  He was surprised to hear much more panic than demand in his voice.

The kindly headmaster was the one to respond.  "Harry, you've been through quite an ordeal.  We need to give your body its best chance to heal."  He frowned sadly.  "Can you tell me who hit you, Harry?"

Harry turned his head away, looking out the windows on the far wall.  He was surprised at the variety of emotions running through him.  It wasn't that he wanted to protect his uncle, but how could he explain that he deserved what he had gotten?  He knew instinctively that Dumbledore would not believe him, would try to convince him that he was wrong, and a feeling of shame flooded through him.  He _did_ deserve it.  He had gotten Sirius, his only remaining family, killed in a moment of stupidity.

He felt a gentle but firm hand grasp his chin and slowly turn it back, until he was looking into the headmaster's deadly serious eyes.  There was no sign of the twinkle of humor that he almost always saw there.  If anything, there was a great depth of sadness.  "This isn't your fault, Harry," Dumbledore told him softly.

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes.  He _knew_ that Dumbledore wouldn't understand.  "I can't… You don't…"

"What, Harry?  Talk to me, please…"

Harry tore his chin from the headmaster's grasp and turned his head away, refusing to speak.  What could he say, after all?

"This is all my fault," he heard Professor Dumbledore whisper.  Harry turned his head back quickly, eyes wide in disbelief.  How could the headmaster think that this was _his_ fault?  "If I hadn't sent you back there, summer after summer…"

Harry's lips were open, shaping themselves into different words that his vocal cords didn't appear to be willing to vocalize.  Finally, he regained his voice.  "It's not… I deserved what I got."  This time it was the headmaster's turn to widen his eyes in disbelief.

But though he opened his mouth to reply, a smooth voice spoke instead.  "I believe you are both blaming yourselves unnecessarily.  This is no one's fault but that idiot Vernon Dursley."

Harry turned to look in the direction of the voice and was shocked to see that it was Professor Snape.  But, Snape wasn't _civil_ with him… Once again he found himself without words, staring into the face that was strangely lacking in the usual hatred.

"That is who hit you, is it not?" Professor Snape continued.  Harry's surprise had swept all his words away, and he simply nodded numbly.  "Well, now that we've worked that out… I need to speak with you, Albus, and I believe he," Snape nodded toward Harry, "needs some more sleep."  Harry followed his gaze to where he could now see Madame Pomfrey.  She was carrying a potion in her hand.

Harry felt something clench up inside of him.  "No, please, I'm not ready to sleep yet… Can't you let me free, please?" the words slipped out of his mouth quickly, revealing the panic that was quickly building up inside of him.  He wanted—needed—to move.

Snape got a strange expression on his face, a wince as if he was remembering some pain.  He shook his head.  "I don't think that's a good idea."

Now the medi-witch had arrived at his bedside with the potion.  "Now, Harry, I'm going to lift your head up and pour the potion into your mouth.  You just need to swallow, alright?"

He shook his head quickly.  "No, please… no…"  He could see that his words were having no effect on the woman.  He felt as though everything was spinning out of control.  His heart beat faster still, and he gave a choking gasp of fear.  Some distant part of his brain recognized that this reaction was not proportionate to the circumstances, but his fear-ridden mind was not listening.  "Let me go, please!"

Then he felt firm hands that did not belong to Madam Pomfrey lifting his head up and opening his mouth, despite his struggle.  "Okay, Harry, get ready to swallow… if you cooperate this will be much more pleasant," said the woman as she lifted the goblet to his lips and began to pour.  He tried to reject it, but just found himself choking painfully, and the potion just kept coming.  His mouth full of the potion, he swallowed desperately, his lungs now demanding air.  Finally his airway was free and he gasped for air as his head was lowered back to the bed.  Tears streamed out of his eyes, and he choked back a sob.

"Why…?"  He was unable to finish his sentence, as he suddenly felt his eyes slipping shut as an incredible tiredness rushed over him.  He heard a bit of murmuring just before he was unconscious.

*  *  *

When Harry woke again it was much darker than before.  He opened his eyes and found that he could still move his head and neck, but the rest of him remained immobile.  Looking to the right, he saw a familiar figure dozing in a chair next to his bed.  He called out to the werewolf quietly.  "Professor Lupin!"

The man jerked awake with a start, glancing around quickly before realizing that the source of the noise was the bed that he had been keeping watch over.  "Harry!  I'm so glad you're awake!" he exclaimed, sounding genuinely pleased.  "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," he replied wryly.  "Can you… I mean, will you… I…"  He couldn't seem to get the words out.

"What is it, Harry?" Lupin looked concerned at this uncharacteristic hesitancy.

"I… I can't move…" he whispered, trying to force down the fear and the tears that were threatening.  "Can you…?"

"Oh!"  A flash of recognition crossed the former professor's face.  "I don't see why not."  With that, he waved his wand and called out clearly, "Finite Incantatem."  He smiled.  "I don't think you should move around a whole lot, though."

Harry nodded, but wiggled his fingers and toes to see that he could.  He felt relief flood through him when he was sure that he had control of his body back.  This time he was able to offer the werewolf a weak smile.  "What are you doing here?"

"I came to visit you, Harry.  As soon as I heard that you'd been hurt, I came as quickly as I could."  He smiled weakly, and Harry saw that the lines in his worn face had only increased.  He knew suddenly that the death of the last of his best friends had been an awful blow to the werewolf.  He felt the familiar wave of guilt rush over him, accompanied by grief, and blinked back tears.

Lupin moved closer to his bed.  "I'm sorry, Harry.  Your uncle had no right to do this to you."

Harry turned his head and mumbled his recurrent thought.  "I deserved it."

"What!" the exclamation sounded a bit like a yelp, and then his former professor's voice became firm.  "Harry, look at me."

He closed his eyes and shook his head, cursing the werewolf's exceptional hearing.  He didn't want to be convinced that he was wrong; he knew that he wasn't.

"Harry!"  The stern voice and the almost angry tone caused Harry's eyes to flash open as he flinched away from the man, frightened.  He grimaced at the pain still present in his ribs and the general ache that covered his whole body as he moved.  From the far edge of the bed he stared at his former professor.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to…" he watched as the boy flinched again at the use of his name.  He modulated his voice to be as soothing as possible.  "You need to calm down… you're going to hurt yourself, you're still healing."

Harry tried to relax himself, but he found that the fear and adrenaline did not leave him so easily.  He had never felt anything but safe with the werewolf, but now he found that there was a part of him that panicked at his presence.  Watching the man's face he could see that he knew how frightened he was, and Harry remembered once again the heightened senses of a werewolf.

"Why don't you get back to the center of the bed, Harry?"  He winced as he saw the injured boy flinch again.  "I don't want you to fall off accidentally."  He took an exaggerated step back, giving Harry space.

For his part, Harry wasn't very interested in falling off the bed either.  Shaking slightly, he ignored his protesting muscles in order to get himself back away from the edge of the bed.  He continued to watch Lupin, torn between horror at the reaction he had to this last of his father's friends and a continuing fear that he couldn't throw off no matter how hard he tried.  Curling up a bit to protect himself, he felt his ribs give an angry twinge.  "I—I'm sorry," he stuttered.

There was understanding in the man's face.  "It's alright, Harry, I understand… You've been through a lot."  Moving slowly, he seated himself in his chair, leaning back and relaxing slightly as Harry did not have any further reaction.  "Now… what's this about you deserving this?"

"I don't want to talk about it."  He said this flatly, hoping that it would end the conversation before it started.  He didn't want to talk about Sirius with the one person who missed him more than he did.  Not when it was his fault.  "How did I get here?  I thought students weren't allowed at Hogwarts during the summer?"

"They're not, usually, but you were hurt and under the circumstances Professor Snape didn't think it a good idea to take you St. Mungo's."  The werewolf seemed to be willing to let the change of subject go without an argument.

"Snape?" he asked blankly.  Then understanding rushed through him.  "Oh Merlin, he was the one who came to get me?"  _I will never live this down_, he thought to himself.

Lupin gave him a calculating look.  "Well, he was just checking in on you.  None of us expected you to be hurt."

"Merlin, he will never let me live this down," Harry moaned, more to himself than to Lupin.

"Do you really think so little of me?" came a smooth voice from the doorway.  He felt every muscle that he didn't realize he had relaxed clench up again, pain stabbing through his ribs at the sudden movement that he made.  He stared at Snape without blinking, desperately trying to slow his heart rate back down.  The potions master was striding quickly over to Harry's bed, and he found himself backing up toward the edge of the bed again as the tall man approached.

"I see you deigned Madam Pomfrey's precautions unnecessary, Lupin," he commented with a harsh edge to his voice.  His attention was now on the still-seated werewolf rather than the fearful boy in the hospital bed.

"I saw no harm in allowing him a bit of freedom while he was awake," he replied calmly.

"I see… Lupin knows best," the potions master sneered.

"Leave him alone!" Harry cried before he even thought about it.  The tall man turned on him, his robes billowing out behind him, and with an abortive cry of fear he pulled away from the angry gaze—and toppled right off the side of the bed.

He landed hard on his back, and thought he heard a crack as he landed.  And incredible pain blossomed from his ribs as the jarring impact undid some of the school medi-witch's hard work.  An instant after he landed both Snape and Lupin appeared around the side of his bed.  Nearly whimpering at the pain, he pulled himself back toward the wall, away from the two towering figures that were fast approaching.

Lupin knelt down so that he was a less menacing figure.  Softly, he began speaking, "Come on, Harry, calm down… We just need to get you back up onto your bed, so that Madam Pomfrey can help you."

But Harry was too far gone to register a word that the werewolf was saying.  "Leave me alone, please!" he pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Harry, you're going to hate me for this, but…"  Ignoring the boy's cries of fear he reached forward and took him into his strong arms.  Harry fought back but his slender frame was too weak to do any real damage, and the pain was making it hard to focus.  A moment later he found himself back on the hospital bed.  Lupin pressed on his shoulder gently to return him to a supine position.

Snape returned with Madam Pomfrey following him.  Lupin's hand continued on his shoulder and kept him from either sitting up or moving around.  Poppy pulled her wand out, and Harry jerked convulsively against Lupin's hand.  "No, don't!" he cried in desperation.

The medi-witch paused in her movements and looked at Harry.  "Will you drink a potion?"  The terrified young man stared at her, weighing his options.

"What kind?" he finally asked, his voice shaky.

"A calming draught… I'm sorry, but I can't give you any more of the dreamless sleep potion today."

He nodded and reached out his good hand for the potion.  "Can you—Can I sit up?"

Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes.  "Only if you can do it on your own."  She nodded to Lupin to let go of his shoulder.  Harry handed the goblet to him, and then lifted himself up on his good elbow.  He gasped at the pain and both Lupin and Snape leaned in as if they were going to push him back down, but the medi-witch motioned them both back.  Gritting his teeth, Harry stubbornly pushed on.  He felt himself getting lightheaded from the pain, and knew that either Lupin or Snape would catch him if he were to pass out.  Finally, painfully, he reached a sitting position.  He held out his good hand and Lupin placed the potion into it.  Throwing his head back, he downed the disgusting potion as quickly as he could.  He barely noticed as the werewolf pried the empty goblet from his hands and the potions master gently eased him back down.  Some part of his mind noted that it was supremely odd for his usually cruel professor to be treating him so gently, to even be present at all.  Another part of him noticed when Madam Pomfrey cast the spell to immobilize his body, but he found it hard to care.  His eyelids drooped and his exhaustion carried him away from the pain and fear and into a deep sleep.

**Author's Notes:**  Please review if you liked it (or hated it, or anything in between)!  Even one or two words, since I have no way that you have read the story or what you thought of unless you tell me! :-)


	2. CHAPTER 2

**IN THE WAY**

**Disclaimer:** Alas, very little of this is unique. The characters and the world they inhabit are the creations of J.K. Rowling, as I'm sure you all know. The "theme song" quoted at the beginning of the chapter is owned (and performed) by Jars of Clay. Finally, many pieces of the plot were subconsciously (or consciously) influenced by the many "Snape rescues Harry" "Harry is abused" and other fics of this general type. If there is at any point something in particular I can cite, I will do so.

**Summary:** Snape is acting strangely toward Harry after he retrieves him from Privet Drive. Why is he suddenly visiting Harry in the hospital wing constantly?

**Rating:** PG-13, mostly for forced treatment issues, and also for some references to child abuse.

**Warnings:** Spoilers up to and including OOTP.

**Author's Notes:** STOP! Don't die of shock! Yes, I'm really updating. Not only that, but I actually finished an entire chapter, not just the half of one that I've had up on my Yahoo! group for a while. As I said at the beginning, this will be updated less often than Lies, since I feel that Lies is my "serious" project and this is less so. In fact, I am quite aware that characters are at least mildly OOC, even considering the unusual circumstances depicted in this story. However, I will do my best to keep them consistent in character if not exactly like their canon counterparts, so if you like them here you'll probably continue to do so. And now, on with the chapter!

**I'M IN THE WAY**

**_you sit and stare out at the sky_****_  
_****_and think of ways to fake a smile_****_  
_****_but life is never what it seems_****_  
_****_sometimes it only takes a while_****_  
  
_****_Chorus:_****_  
_****_i'm in the way of fallin' down_****_  
_****_i won't let you go that far now_****_  
_****_i'm in the way of fallin' down_****_  
_****_i won't let you go that far now_****_  
  
_****_i won't let you go_****_  
  
_****_you think that hope was left behind_****_  
_****_i picked it up a mile ago_****_  
_****_i am running close behind_****_  
_****_so don't give up and don't let go_**

****

**_-- Jars of Clay_**

CHAPTER 2

"…the second time he's reinjured himself. Not to mention the time he gave me a black eye during one of his panic attacks. We'll just have to find a way to calm him without undoing the spell." The affected tone of indifference in the voice that Harry heard as he woke sounded familiar, but his groggy mind found it hard to place.

"You have taken all of this so well, Severus. I'm so proud of you." This time Harry recognized the dulcet tones of the headmaster.

"Merlin knows that one of us will need to be strong, and it obviously won't be him."

"Don't underestimate your own strength, Severus… or his." There was a pause, and Harry resisted opening his eyes to see what was going on. "He's proven it to me on too many occasions to count… more occasions than he should have had the opportunity."

"Well, if the boy wouldn't go running after trouble…"

"Ah, but you know that it's not that easy, Severus. Trouble seems to follow him regardless."

Finally Harry opened his eyes, and saw that it was indeed Snape talking with the headmaster, a few feet away from his bed. The hospital ward was bright again, and he wondered what day it was. He realized suddenly that his birthday must have come and gone—the last day he could remember at Privet Drive had been the day before he was to turn sixteen. That he had not had a chance to "celebrate" his birthday wasn't a horrible loss, though, as the extent of his celebration was usually opening his presents at midnight and having something to eat for the next week or so.

"Professor?" he called out softly.

Both men turned to face him. "You're awake," Dumbledore said with a smile. Professor Snape confined himself to nodding in acknowledgement, but it was better than a snide remark. Once again Harry wondered at this change in behavior, and then pushed it away in favor of that question that he had just been considering.

"What day is it, sir?"

"August 9th, Harry." When he saw the look of shock on the boy's face, he continued. "Yes, it has been a week and a half since Severus rescued you from your uncle." He shook his head sadly, his eyes losing their twinkle in an instant. "I must apologize again, Harry, for forcing you to return there when it was clearly unsafe."

Harry felt something clench up inside of him. Why did the exact conversation that he least wanted to have seem to continue to repeat itself? He looked toward the ceiling instead of making eye contact with either of the wizards, and gave the answer that would absolve the headmaster of the guilt that Harry had never placed on him. "It wasn't your fault."

"Thank you, Harry, though unfortunately I don't think it is quite that simple." The boy turned his head back to look at the headmaster—and jerked his head back when he suddenly saw the form of the potions master looming over him. The man had halved the former distance between him and the hospital bed, and was gazing at Harry with some unfathomable expression in his eyes.

Harry felt his breathing speed up as every danger signal in his head went off, and suddenly all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. "No—don't--" he choked out. Professor's Snape's whole posture changed and he moved back to give Harry room. Unfortunately, the fear wasn't ready to dissipate so easily. "Let me go!" The terror of being unable to struggle flooded him, a terror that seemed almost to equal what he experienced in Voldemort's presence.

He barely registered that the potions master had drawn his wand before he felt a strange sensation: his lungs were no longer under his control. Instead of drawing air in and out as quickly as the muscles could, he was suddenly breathing slowly and steadily. At first he tried to regain control, sure he was going to suffocate if he couldn't. Slowly, though, his ears cleared of his pounding heart rate as it returned to a reasonable rate, and his head began to clear as well. He realized then that Professor Snape was speaking in calm, even tones.

"That's right, Harry, breathe deeply. We're not going to hurt you… Good, very good… Can you hear me now?" Harry opened his mouth to respond, but realized that he couldn't as long as he didn't have control of his own lungs. "Just nod, that's fine," Snape said calmly, apparently understanding his struggle, and looked Harry in the eyes. Harry tried to understand the expression he could see lurking under the calm façade, but he couldn't. Then he realized that the professor was beginning to speak again. "Are you alright now?" Harry nodded again. "Okay, I'm going to let you go, now… Just breathe deeply, and don't talk yet." He waited until Harry nodded again, and then did as he had said. Harry focused all his attention on his breathing, marveling at the control he had back and feeling a bit of relief at having control of something at least.

"I'm sorry I startled you," Snape apologized softly, and Harry looked at him, trying to decide if this was a joke. Professor Snape, the potions master who _despised_ him above all other students, was apologizing to him? "Is there anything we can do to make you feel more comfortable or safe?"

Harry opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but instead found a request coming out. "Can you let me go? I just want to be able to move a little…" He was surprised at how small his voice sounded as he pleaded with the man.

The man sighed. "I'm sorry, but we really can't do that… You've already re-injured yourself twice unintentionally, and the idea is to let you out of the hospital wing eventually."

"But…" There was the panic again. He could feel his breathing speed up as he tried to catch his breath after the rush of pure fear.

"Breathe, Harry!" The potions master's urgent tone cut through his panic. He struggled to remember that he was safe, that nothing was going to happen here, but all he could think that he was trapped. His breathing continued raggedly. He had to get out of here! The world blurred and slipped sideways.

He woke up with a headache. "…another panic attack," he heard the end of whatever was being said.

"Oh dear… It sounds as though the calming draught will continue to be necessary."

"Indeed. I will replenish your supplies when I have the opportunity."

He blinked his eyes open slowly. When he heard his heartbeat speeding up again already, he focused on taking slow, deep breaths. He tuned out everything going on around him in favor of staying conscious and in control. Thus it was several minutes before he realized that Professor Snape was calling his name.

"Harry, can you hear me?"

"Why are you calling me Harry?" he blurted out, surprising even himself. His curiosity appeared to have overcome his panic for the moment.

"Does it bother you?" Snape seemed to have a strangely guarded expression on his face. Harry almost could have guessed that the potions professor cared what his answer was.

"I guess not…" he responded hesitantly. It was beyond strange to be carrying on a civil conversation with the professor who usually couldn't wait to get in a barb or three.

"I would love to continue this conversation," Snape interjected, his face passive and his voice emotionless, "but first I believe it may be a good idea to give you the calming draught while you're not in the midst of a panic attack."

The mere mention of panic caused a million thoughts to flit through Harry's mind. Meanwhile, though, Professor Snape was already lifting his head. "Okay, deep breath... Now get ready to swallow," he instructed, and then the potion was pouring into Harry's mouth. He focused on swallowing it the best he could, trying not to gag this time, and was mostly successful. Almost immediately he felt the influence of the potion and relaxed perceptibly.

For a moment the medi-witch busied herself looking over her patient, and then she seemed to deem his condition satisfactory and backed off to allow the professor some time with his student. Harry, for his part, found himself vaguely curious once again about why his professor was acting so differently from what was normal for him.

He watched intently as the man pulled a chair closer to his bed and sat, cleared his throat, then looked around as if for a distraction. Snape's eyes lit on the bedside table, which Harry couldn't quite see because of his limited range of movement.

"Do you need your glasses?" Harry frowned when he saw that his glasses were indeed in Snape's hand.

"What..?" He looked past Snape, across the hospital wing, and saw that he could see Madam Pomfrey clearly—something that would usually be unlikely _with_ his glasses. "I don't—I can see just fine," he finally replied, shocked.

"Hmm," was Snape's mild response. He didn't seem very surprised.

"Sir? Is it normal for a wizard's eyesight to correct itself?"

Snape sighed. "No, P—Harry, it's not." Harry frowned, wondering once again why Snape was suddenly insisting on calling him by his given name.

Then what Snape had said registered, and he sighed. "Well, far be it from me to be normal in any way whatsoever," he muttered, and Snape raised an eyebrow. This brought his attention back to the matter at hand. "I get the feeling that you expected this."

Snape nodded slowly. "It has recently been brought to my attention that you had a charm cast on you at birth, one of the effects of which was to make you severely near-sighted like P-James was."

Harry frowned. "Why would someone do that? Were they trying to handicap me?"

Snape looked surprised and shook his head quickly. "No, Harry… the person who cast the charm was your mother, and she meant you no harm. In fact, I daresay that if Lily had lived longer, she might have corrected your eyesight."

"Correct it…?" Snape nodded. "You mean I grew up desperately trying to keep my glasses with me and intact my entire life because I'm nearly blind without them, and now you tell me that _someone could have fixed it_??"

"No, P-Harry, that is _not_ what I said," he snapped. "I _said_ that _Lily_ would have fixed it, if she had been living. No one else knew that you had this charm on you."

"Oh," Harry replied, his anger deflating quickly. Which was not to say that he wanted Snape around. He had just remembered why he disliked the man so much. He looked away for several minutes, expecting Snape to take the hint and leave. Finally, he turned back. "What do you want?"

Snape sneered in anger at Harry's attitude. "Well, I _was_ going to tell you the truth, but clearly I was mistaken in thinking that a rash Gryffindor could care about that." He stood up with a flourish of his robes and stalked from the room.

Almost immediately a feeling of contrition filled Harry. He hated Snape, Snape hated him… and yet Snape was not acting like Snape, and he wanted to know why. Not to mention that there was little else to do while he was trapped in the hospital wing. With a sigh he turned his eyes to the ceiling and began to count pockmarks in the stone.

After a while, Madam Pomfrey reappeared from her office or wherever she had gone. She bustled out, but appeared to be surprised at something. Harry turned to look at her. "Harry? Where did Severus go?"

"Left…" Harry replied listlessly.

"I see…" she responded hesitantly, in a tone that made it clear that she did not. "And what did you speak about, before he left?"

Harry frowned. "Nothing, really… Do you know what the big secret is?" Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to respond but Harry was continuing to speak already. "Whatever it is, I'm not sure I want to hear it, if he thinks it means he has to pretend like he's not the git he is."

Madam Pomfrey choked a bit at this; one would think she had heard something horrifying, rather than a rather common epithet against Snape's oft-insulted person. "Harry," she finally managed in a reproving tone, "you shouldn't speak that way about your… professor." Strange… he wondered if he had only imagined that pause before she had said professor.

"Why?" Harry sneered. "Is he going to take points from Gryffindor?"

The nurse frowned but changed the subject. "Perhaps you should take a bit of a nap, dear, you're looking a bit peaky."

"No thanks…" Harry replied. He started to look away, and then thought to ask a question. "How much longer am I going to have to be in the Hospital Wing?"

The nurse looked apologetic. "You were very injured when you got here, Harry, and you've re-injured yourself several times. Probably another week."

"A week?!" he yelped in surprise. He shook his head hard enough to make himself slightly dizzy. "I'm not staying like this for a week!"

Madam Pomfrey drew herself up to her full height. "You, Mr. Potter, have little say in the matter. As I said, you have re-injured yourself repeatedly, and I will not be releasing you until I am certain that you will not undo my hard work!"

Harry shrank back against the bed. "Y-yes, Au—M-Madam Pomfrey," he managed to stutter out. That irrational fear and need to make himself disappear and hide that had only strengthened this summer was reasserting itself.

"Oh dear," murmured the woman, as she brought her hand up to rest on his immobile shoulder. Harry flinched slightly at her touch, and closed his eyes tightly. "It's alright, Harry, you're safe here…"

Harry tried to believe her but began to shake nonetheless, at least as much as he could within the restraints. "P-please…" he stuttered.

"What is it, Harry?" Madam Pomfrey asked worriedly. "What do you need?"

"S-stop…"

"Stop what?"

"Let me go!" he pleaded with the little air that he could gather. He was hyperventilating again, and Snape wasn't here to save him this time. Since when was Snape his savior, anyway?

"Breathe, Harry!" cried Madam Pomfrey. Harry gave a choking sob but continued to breathe frantically. "Deep breaths!"

Harry shook his head; continuing the shallow breaths seemed to be the only way that he would get the air he needed, even though he wasn't getting it. Finally, Madam Pomfrey said, "I'm so sorry, Harry, but… Stupefy!"

* * *

Harry awoke with a gasp and an awful headache. If the pounding in his head was not enough to remind him, his complete failure after at sitting up jogged his memory quite efficiently. His breath caught in his throat and he clenched his teeth and tried not to panic—again.

"Easy," murmured a silky voice from somewhere beside him, and a hand entwined itself in his hair, rubbing his scalp in soothing motion. The headache began to subside slightly, and he sighed in relief, relaxing into the bed and nearly forgetting that he couldn't move if he had wanted to. "That's right," praised the voice. "Does your head ache?" it questioned next.

He groaned slightly, hoping that the voice would understand, as he didn't seem capable of putting his thoughts together coherently at the moment. The hand paused for a moment in its motions. "Stupefy can do that. Would you like a potion for the pain?"

Not if it means you're going to stop rubbing my head, was Harry's silent reply. He lifted his chin to push his head back against the hand with a small sound of discontent, and was rewarded by the hand resuming its massaging motion. He thought he might have heard a small chuckle, but he couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment.

"Why did that woman have to cast that damnable charm, anyway? Maybe if you hadn't looked like _him_, I could have gotten to know you back when you were this young. Now, though…" the voice trailed off, still continuing to rub his head. He hoped what it was saying wasn't important, because he wasn't putting much effort into deciphering it. Just relaxing…

The hand disentangled itself from his hair once again, and this time when he leaned his head back in protest it was not within reach. He made another noise of protest, but the hand did not return. The voice, did, however. "No more, Harry. It's time to either wake up, or go completely back to sleep." The voice sounded sterner now, and he began to try to blink his heavy eyelids open in response.

Opening his eyelids let light in, though, and the light seemed to cause his headache to bloom where it had withered under the gentle massage before. "Wha..?" he moaned incoherently, squinting against the light and trying to see something—anything. What he saw, a moment later, was a dark figure looming over him. This brought his eyes further open, but resolving the figure into that of Snape did not comfort him much. In fact, he gasped slightly in reflexive panic at seeing the man so close to him.

Almost immediately the hand returned to soothe him once again. It belonged to Professor Snape, it seemed, though he found it hard to reconcile with the black eyes watching him from an apparently emotionless face. His eyelids relaxed down to a half-closed position, though, as he instinctively relaxed against the hand.

The hand stopped its massaging, but did not leave his head. Instead, it moved down toward the base of his skull and then his head was being lifted. "Open your mouth, Harry," ordered his Professor in a strangely gentle tone. Harry hesitated for a moment before obeying with a weary sigh. He swallowed quickly as the thick and sickly sweet calming potion filled his mouth. He made a disgusted sound when his mouth was mostly empty.

Snape chuckled lightly. "That's one thing we're agreed on. Still, it's better than a panic attack, don't you think?" Harry made a non-commital noise, his head still held up off the bed slightly. "The next one's not quite so sweet—something for the headache," he explained at the teen's questioning expression. Not so sweet was an understatement, Harry found, as the bitter and truly disgusting potion was poured in. He swallowed quickly and grimaced as his head was let down gently.

"Better?" Harry nodded with a sigh, the headache already beginning to wither into nothing. The edges of panic that still surged through him whenever he tried to move were also being covered over with a pleasant emptiness. "Alright. I let you run me off earlier, but this conversation cannot be postponed any longer," Snape began, backing off from his bed and taking a seat in the chair next to it. Harry blinked. That sounded… ominous. "You see, P—Harry, I recently received a… missive… from your mother. She had magically delayed it to appear two days before your sixteenth birthday.

"In it, she informed me that…" Snape sighed, making Harry that much more nervous. "There is no easy way to say this. She informed me that James Potter is not—was not—your father." Harry might have boggled at hearing the usually-controlled man stutter, but he was too busy trying to pull himself out of shock at what Snape was saying.

Beyond the shock that the man who had always hated him for looking like his father was now saying that that man was not, in fact, his father, he was also wondering why his mother would have sent a letter to Snape and not to him. There was only one reason that he could think of… He began to shake his head stubbornly, slowly at first and then more quickly as Snape began to speak again.

"Yes, Harry, I think you've figured it out. She also told me that I—I am—I am your biological father," Snape finally managed.

"No," Harry responded aloud finally, quietly at first, then more loudly. "No, no, no, no, NO!" The blanket of calmness that had felt so comforting at first now felt as though it was smothering him. He _hated_ Snape—hated him for lying, hated him for believing the letter (if there even was one), hated him for daring to come and tell Harry this, and hated him most of all for making Harry drink a calming potion before having this conversation. He shoved it aside as though it were nothing more than a paper thin barrier, without a second thought. "You're lying, I hate you, it's not true!" he screamed, and Snape looked taken aback at the energy and emotion behind his scream.

Snape leaned forward but didn't stand. "It is extremely unexpected news, I admit, but I am not lying." Harry glared furiously at him, wishing he could do something more. "Would you like to see the letter?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "I don't want to see the letter, because there is no letter—and if there is, then it's a filthy stinking lie and I don't want it near me, you—you—" Harry tried to fight the onset of memories as things fell into place—Snape rescuing, Snape being gentle with him, Snape cutting himself off whenever he began to call him Potter—his adrenaline began to drain from him as fast as it had come. "It can't be true, can it?" he asked pleadingly. "I mean, how—why—"

"I can't say it comes as any less of a shock to me," Snape sighed. "Even with nearly two weeks to consider, it still hardly makes sense." He chuckled bitterly. "And it's not as though I'm likely to be a good 'father figure'. However, this was clearly not something that could—or should—be kept from you."

"Why not?" protested Harry immediately. "You hate me—why not just pretend you had never read the letter? Why tell me?" This was not good news, no matter how much it might have seemed to be to an outsider. It was a bit like knowing that Petunia Dursley was related to him—what good was a blood relation if they hated you and mistreated you any chance they got? As far as he knew, it only made things worse; Potions could not be any better knowing that it was his _father_ humiliating him at every turn.

Snape sighed. "I do not hate you, Harry. I hate your—well, the man I supposed was your father. I hated his features on your face. It is much easier to see you as your own person now that you do not resemble _Potter_," he spat the name in his usual manner, "any longer. I… I would like to get chance to know you, if you will let me."

The request almost distracted him from the content of what Snape had said before it. When Snape's words registered, however, he tried to sit up in shock, but only managed to widen his eyes and lift his head slightly. "What do you mean, now that I don't look like James??" It hadn't occurred to him that the charm they had mentioned must have worn off, for his vision to be better. "What do I look like??" he asked, panic re-entering his voice as though it had never left.

Snape stood suddenly and his dark figure looming over Harry as he lay panicked and helpless caused his breath to catch in his throat and then begin coming faster. Snape's idea, it seemed, was to attempt to calm him by once again massaging his scalp. Harry, however, was not in the mood.

Moving his head away, he snarled, "Bugger off! I don't need to be petted like a dog or a small child!" Even as he said it, though, he knew something would need to be done, as he was hardly moving in the right direction at the moment. Only his anger overwhelmed the panic long enough for him to get such a coherent complaint out.

"Then what do you need, P—boy?" Snape replied, irritation clear in his voice.

"Just—let me go..!" he repeated for what seemed like the millionth time since he had woken in the Hospital Wing. "I won't—I can't—don't do this!!"

"Shhh, just calm down. You're going to be fine; you're completely safe." Now his professor—his father, supposedly—seemed to be trying the rational approach. Harry was not feeling particularly rational, himself.

"Let—me—go!" Harry pleaded as loudly as he could, pushing with every bit of physical and mental and magical strength that it felt he possessed at the cursed restraints that were holding him still. To his great surprise, he felt what seemed like a magical snap, and then he could move.

For half a second he froze, unsure if Snape had realized what had happened or not. Should he wait to move until he was alone, or take advantage now? When he saw the wary and suspicious expression on Snape's face, though, he knew that the observant man had seen his muscles tense. Before he could be stopped, he rolled onto his side and curled into as tight a ball as he could form. It was amazing how much safer he felt, and his breathing was slowing already despite the pain that it had caused (and was causing, if he admitted it to himself) to remain in this position. His ribs in particular were screaming in pain.

"Harry, I know you disabled the restraining field, but you need to lay back flat. That is not good for your injuries. Now just lay back…" Harry felt hands, trying to pry him out of the ball he had formed, but he hugged his knees all the harder to his chest and whimpered slightly. After a moment, though, he felt his legs being pulled away from his chest despite his best efforts, his weak efforts simply not up to the effort it seemed.

Tears streamed down his face as he tried even harder to protect himself. He was no longer aware of where he was, only that he was safest this way and allowing himself to be moved would only promise more pain. "Stop it, stop it, please," he begged, words flowing from his mouth without thought. "It hurts, it hurts, please, not that, please!!"

His screams had drawn the missing school nurse, who made her presence known by an exclamation of "Oh, dear Merlin!" and then hustled over. "What on earth happened, Severus?!"

"What does it look like happened??" Snape growled, still trying to get his panicking son to relax and lay back. "He broke the restraining field while he was having a panic attack."

"How did he—Merlin, _listen_ to him, Severus," she breathed, interrupting herself.

Snape did as she asked and promptly released Harry's limbs in shock. "Please no, it hurts, don't… Please, Dudley, please, it hurts, no, stop, Uncle Vernon, please, you're going to _kill_ me, stop it, please!"

A moment later he near the head of the bed, massaging Harry's scalp again in hopes of calming him. At first the teen tried to move away from him, but slowly he began to relax slightly, his murmuring becoming less frantic and quite a bit quieter.

"I should get a Calming Potion," Pomfrey said, turning to do as she said, but Snape stopped her.

"I gave him one before we started the conversation," he explained grimly. "He can't have another for at least an hour."

The mediwitch stared at the boy in shock. "But—he's not calm at all! It can't have worn off so quickly!"

"Poppy, think about it. Do you remember when you gave me the Calming Draught after—after that night? The—the Whomping Willow?"

Her mouth formed into an 'O' of surprise. After a moment, she put her head in her hands and moaned as the implications hit her. "Of all the things for him to inherit, it had to be that…"

"I can conjure physical restraints that won't hurt him but will keep him still, if we can get him to lay back. And if we can get him calm, I can teach him how not to push the magic away, so that the Calming Draughts will last, at least a little longer."

"Harry, can you hear me?" Poppy asked gently after nodding to what Snape had said.

The teen in question moaned and murmured, "Hurts," but didn't otherwise show any signs of having heard what she had said.

"Laying curled up like that is hurting your ribs, Harry," Snape responded, still massaging the boy's scalp skillfully. His fingers knew where every pressure point was, and he manipulated them to relax Harry as far as was possible. "Don't you want it to stop hurting?"

"Have to be able to move—have to be safe," Harry responded. He curled up even more tighter in a relexive response to the suggestion he knew was coming, and gasped at the pain that blossomed even further in his ribs.

"How about we see how you can do just laying still on your back? We won't cast anymore restraining spells on you," Snape promised blithely. Poppy looked at him in surprise and a little anger, but he hushed any vocal response with a dark glare. "What do you say about that?"

"Can't… Hurts…"

"It will feel better, I promise," Snape replied evenly. "Start by relaxing as much as you can… that's right, now let go of your knees… Don't worry, Harry, we're not going to force you. Good, very good," he guided the boy in a smooth and remarkably gentle and encouraging tone. Pomfrey stared at him, unaware that he had it in him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry was letting his curled up position go and moving back outwards. Unfortunately, it hurt almost as much as getting into and staying in the position had hurt, and several times he almost stopped if not for Snape's oddly motivating tone. He truly jerked in startlement, though, when Snape removed one hand from his head and asked for his wand from Poppy.

"Don't worry, I just need it because you look like you need a pain-relieving spell." He nodded at Poppy to cast the spell, and quietly muttered the words to conjure the restraints that he needed. The medi-witch glared at him again but followed his lead and cast the pain-relieving spell.

"You're doing great, Harry, just great. You're almost there, just a little further. That's right, just let yourself relax and let your knees stretch out." He paused for a moment, then carefully injected concern into his voice. "You're shaking, Harry, are you cold? Here, I've got a blanket for you, right here. Poppy, will you help me with this?" Snape didn't dare stop massaging with both hands, as he feared Harry would begin to panic when he came out of the trance he seemed to have fallen into. Instead, he allowed the mediwitch to drag the other end of the "blanket" down to the end of the bed, and let her arrange it carefully over Harry's body, then tapped it gently with his wand. Both of them watched as the edges seemed to meld into the bed around Harry, and while Snape looked relieved, Poppy looked torn between satisfaction and anger at the Potions Master.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Snape asked carefully as he returned to Harry's head, now massaging his temples carefully.

"Can't I lay on my side?" the teen asked plaintively. "I can't lay like this; I can't—I can't—" Snape fought to keep his hands from tightening against the boy's head as he tried to roll back onto his side and the "blanket" tightened around him, holding him still. "What…?! No!" Harry shrieked, having discovered that he had once again lost his freedom to move. "No, let me go, no, no!" He was already beginning to hyperventilate, and Snape eyed his wand but tried to calm him first.

"Harry, listen to me," he said sternly. "Breathe—In, and out… in, and out. Come _on_, Harry, _breathe_!" But it was no use. The blanket had tightened further as Harry had struggled so that now he could not move at all, and he was in a full-blown panic attack.

"_Respiro_," he incanted, and then he focused all his mental energy on the movement of his lungs, moving the air in and out as efficiently and methodically as he could. He stepped around to where he could see the boy's face, and saw it going through the same expressions as last time—further panic, confusion, and finally, relief. When he saw relief starting to spread, he asked, "That's right… Deep breaths," he reminded Harry, preparing to release the spell. "Can you manage on your own?"

It was going to be a very long hour until they could give Harry the next Calming Potion.

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Author's Notes: So, what did you think? Please read and review! And thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed during the LONG time that it has been since the last chapter—I hope it was worth it!


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